


Sunday Snippets

by D_f_m22



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-09 09:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_f_m22/pseuds/D_f_m22
Summary: A collection of Twissy prompts posted every Sunday.





	1. Comic Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Week one: Missy starts collecting comic books in the Vault. 
> 
> Thanks to Madam Violet for the prompt. Make sure to send me prompts by 10am UK time next Saturday :)

“Look what I’ve got!”

 

 The Doctor entered the Vault with a flurry of energy that was not warranted at that time in the morning. Missy pushed herself up in her bed, squinting at the Doctor. Stealing a glance at her clock, the squint quickly turned to a scowl.

 

**_5am!_ **

 

“It’s too early,” Missy said, without showing any interest what so ever in what the Doctor was so excited about. “Come back at a suitable hour...With my poached eggs.”

 

“You’re not human, Missy,” the Doctor said- earning him a grunt of annoyance. “Stop acting like you need all that sleep.”

 

“It’s you that tells me I need to have a healthy sleep routine, dear,” Missy stated. “So, if you’d kindly fu—”

 

“Missy!” The Doctor reprimanded. “What have I told you about your language?”

 

“Oh please, I’m Scottish this time around, it would be criminal if I didn’t swear.”

 

The Doctor sighed, realising he was fighting a losing battle. Tucking the brown Amazon delivery box under his arm, he tried one last tactic.

 

“Well, that’s just fine Missy,” he said. “I guess you won’t want the open the Amazon delivery that came for you yesterday…”

 

“The Amazon’s doing deliveries now? Has deforestation already hit the poor buggers so hard they’ve had to turn to a courier service to raise funds?” Missy drawled drily.

 

The Doctor was about to respond when he Missy bolted upright.

 

“Wait!” The Time Lady exclaimed with the excitement the Doctor had been hoping for from the start. “Is that what I think it is?”

 

The Time Lord smiled, holding out the box. “Why don’t you come and have a look.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The delivery was Missy’s three-month back log of comic book subscriptions. The Time Lady had rather taken to the hobby of comic collecting- enjoying variations in every earth language and have a sizeable collection after several decades in the Vault. The Time Lord couldn’t quite understand what Missy found so exciting about the illustrated magazines, but he was happy to see her finding joy in an endeavour that wasn’t murder and mayhem.

 

“Look Doctor!” Missy said with the same enthusiasm as a child on Christmas morning. “I finally got the villain action figure with this edition. He kind of looks like I did when I had my goatee.”

 

The Doctor was going to ignore her excitement at finally receiving the villain but couldn’t resist a jibe at her expense.

 

“Which goatee Missy? There’s been a few,” he laughed. He then couldn’t resist questioning her amusement with the earth pastime. He asked every time she opened a new stash and was yet to receive an answer. “Why do you like these things so much anyway?”

 

“They speak my language,” Missy said. She took the Doctor off guard with her response. “Heroism, villainy and a dash of drama. Now I’m not allowed to be a villain anymore, I may as well live vicariously through my fictional counterparts.”


	2. Planting ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor brings Missy a plant from Gallifrey. 
> 
> It doesn't have the expected reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your second instalment of Sunday Snippets. Thanks to Citrinemoon for your prompt (s) I loved all of them btw and expect to see them in writing at some stage. As always, please send me new prompts before next Saturday :)

It was winter again, Missy thought as she ran her hand along the edge of the piano. It was cool to touch and made her fingertips feel alive. She held them there longer than was necessary and closed her eyes. Like this, she could pretend she was outside; enjoying a five-star meal deep in Quasabian Ice Caves. Or better still, _chillaxing_ in the ice pools of the Gunyster Colony after a successful invasion. She’d keep that thought to herself, it was just a thought and not an action. The Doctor didn’t like that type of thing when they became actions- see, she was learning!

 

As the saying goes, think of the Devil and he will appear. The Devil that arrived on this occasion had more in common with the Saints than Satan. Hell, it was probably the Doctor that created the Saviour Complex. The arrival of the Time Lord happened in such a rush that Missy was still stood next to her piano, eyes closed as she reminisced by the time he was stood in the dining area- he hadn’t even announced his arrival or warned her to stand in the containment field. When had he stopped doing that?

 

The speed of his arrival put her on edge.  She ended up looking guilty even though she hadn’t done anything. Guilt had always looked so good on her, whatever face she was wearing.

 

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

 

Her voice was hoarse from days of not speaking- not an intentional vow of silence, she just didn’t have anyone to talk to and she wasn’t feeling even remotely mad enough to talk to an empty Vault. As she watched the Doctor wince and raise his eyebrows, she wondered if saying she hadn’t done anything wrong was more suspicious than saying anything at all. It felt like weeks since she had seen him but was probably closer to days. Time became distorted the longer she spent alone in her prison, as did her already limited social skills. She was so pleased to see the Doctor that she didn’t know what to do or how to stand. Her hands itched at the edge of her skirt as she fidgeted with the sides. She was pleased today was one of the days that she had decided to shower and put on clean clothes. She hated it when the Doctor came down and found her in clothes she’d been wearing for days. She wanted to prove that she was coping. She could be a functional being. 

 

“I know you weren’t,” the Doctor chuckled. “I trust you. Your voice is croaky, Missy, pour yourself a glass of water.”

 

The Time Lady went to the sink, running the tap and pouring water into a plastic tumbler. That was when she noticed that the Doctor was holding something behind his back, turning ever so slightly each time she came close. Her lips quirked in delight- it had been a long time since he’d visited with a surprise for her. Of course, there was the possibility that this was an unpleasant surprise. Missy shivered as she remembered the time he’d been hiding a syringe behind his back. Taking a gulp of water, Missy looked at the Doctor steadily. If he had another injection behind his back, she would have to prove she was sane. 

 

“I’m not mad,” Missy said in her sanest voice. “Well, at least I’m not today.”

 

“What?” The Doctor asked before seeming to realise what she had thought was happening. A flash of guilt crossed his features- like her, guilt had always suited his faces. “No, not its not an injection.  It’s… I got you a present Missy. You’ve been doing so well these last few months, I wanted to treat you.”

 

Unable to hide his smile, the Doctor revealed the large house plant he had carried into the Vault. This was no ordinary house plant. It was about a foot tall and a fiery red colour with silver droplets. Its scent was familiar, time laden and sickening. Like the two Time Lords in the room, it was not of planet Earth. The Doctor was still wearing his goofy smile when Missy found herself steadying herself on the back of the chair.

 

“What’s happened?” Missy asked, eyes glued to the plant. Flowers always meant that something bad had happened- especially that type of flower. Her fingers turned white as she griped the chair.

 

“Nothing’s happened,” the Doctor replied in shock. He’d been expecting a smug smile and theatrical thank you. Not this…state of shock. “It’s a present Missy, to say well done and how proud I am of you. I didn’t think you’d appreciate Earth’s attempt at plants, so I went for some home comforts. These used to be your favourites.”

 

“You went to Gallifrey?” Missy spat in disgust. “How could you go back to that hell hole?”

 

“I didn’t. I have a tree in the greenhouse on my Tardis,” the Doctor said. Missy swayed, she was certain she was about to faint. Her grip tightened and when the Doctor spoke again, she felt as though she was underwater. Why did he suddenly sound so far away? “Missy, you don’t look good, come and sit down. That’s it…Is that comfortable, sweetheart? You stay there. No, no.. Don’t move Missy. Good. That’s it stay there.”

 

When she came back to herself, Missy was sitting on the chaise-lounge. She didn’t remember moving over to the living area, the Doctor must have helped her.  The Doctor who was now sat staring at her with wide eyed concern. The plant was out of sight, somewhere behind her, but she could feel its presence boring into her. It stank of home and Missy found herself coughing and spluttering as she tried not to vomit. It was no good and a slither of phlegm like substance travelled down her blouse and into her lap. There went her clean skirt.

 

“I was wearing a clean skirt,” Missy mumbled. She heard the Doctor coo and felt him dutifully scrub away the sick. “I was functioning.”

 

“Shh now,” the Doctor sighed. “Did that plant bring back a memory, Missy?”

 

Missy nodded, sniffing as she scrambled to reach the Doctor’s hand.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I should have thought. Gallifrey holds horrible memories for us both. I…You don’t have to tell me the memory—”

 

“You bought me a plant like that when my daughter died. You said that if I planted it near the shrine I had in my back garden, it would thrive and grow and be a reminder of her spirit. I became obsessed with that plant! I watered it, I sang to it and I spent my every waking minute sat next to it. I thought if I looked after it enough, the Gods would see I could be a good mother and give her back to me.”

 

The Doctor winced. He remembered now, the day he’d been unable to get her to move away from the plant after sitting with it for five days straight. It had been winter- the plant had been covered in frost and Missy had nearly turned blue from the cold. He’d had to call the hospital, she’d been sectioned. Two weeks after her arrival at the facility in a village, miles away from the Citadel, she’d spotted a close cousin of the plant he’d bought her growing in the hospital grounds. They were widely found in that region and that discovery had done little to help her obsession.

 

“Missy,” the Doctor sighed. “I’m so sorry. I…I’ll take it away.”

 

Missy sniffed and didn’t argue.

 

“The only other Gallifreyan thing I want in this Vault is you.”

 

She didn’t want to talk anymore about the unintentionally triggered memory.

 

“Okay, that seems reasonable,” the Doctor agreed.

 

“And if you want to treat me, I like chocolate. The dairy milk one with nuts.”

 

“I’ll remember that. In fact, I’m sure I can pop into the corner shop on my way off from getting rid of the plant.”

Missy laughed and then sniffed and then cried. The Doctor watched on guiltily.

 

“Doctor,” she said eventually. “She liked the beach. Don’t throw the plant away. Plant it near the beach, you know, just in case. Besides, I like the idea of having something to honour her wherever I end up.”

 

It wasn’t delusional- not this time, at least. She knew that her daughter’s spirit wasn’t attached to what used to be her favourite plant. But she did have a sprinkling of hope. And the Doctor could never deny anyone hope.

 

“Yes,” the Doctor whispered as he left the Vault, plant in hand. “Just in case.”


	3. Old friends

“I found your Tardis.”

The Doctor’s words took Missy by surprise, though she barely let it show. Instead, she continued pouring the tea and made a low humming sound. Face guarded, her eyes flittered up to take in the Doctor’s expression. His was anything but guarded. It was a tapestry of beautiful expression- fuzzy eyebrows were furrowed in anticipation and thin lips were drawn back tightly as they prepared for the verbal battle he was convinced they were approaching. 

Missy’s lips quirked into a small smirk as she placed the polka dot tea pot back down on the table and picked up the plate of biscuits. Stretching the plate out towards the Doctor, Missy tilted her head to one side. A strand of her dark hair fell out of place, framing her face in a way she knew the Doctor would find endearing. He did- she could tell by the way his whole face softened and suddenly looked less like an old leather boot. She wouldn’t tell him that, he’d already told her on several occasions that he didn’t appreciate the likenesses she came up with. 

“Pink wafer or jammy dodger?” Missy offered, a playful lilt to her voice. 

All at once, the tension returned to the Doctor’s face. His lips were pulled back in that same defensive stance, like an arrow ready to shoot accusations at her. 

“Did you hear me?” The Doctor asked gruffly. It was less a question and more a statement of disbelief. 

“Did you hear me?” Missy retorted, tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth as she made a show of looking impatient. “You’re ruining our tea party, just pick a biscuit. Look, I can see you eyeing the last custard cream. If you really insist on taking that from me, I suppose I’ll make an exception.” 

“This isn’t supposed to be a tea party,” the Doctor growled. “This is your therapy session.” 

Realising he was fighting a losing battle, the Time Lord picked up a biscuit from the plate. In spite, he chose the custard cream. 

“And I thought I was the petty one,” Missy trilled as she selected a pink wafer and placed the plate back down. 

The Doctor dunked the square biscuit in his tea, eyes never leaving the Time Lady.   
“I found your Tardis,” he repeated. “You told me you’d lost it in a crash.” 

As he spoke, the Doctor continued to dunk his biscuit. Missy watched as the hard outer layer began to crumble. 

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to lose your biscuit,” Missy warned. The Doctor ignored her and found himself scowling as the biscuit broke in half and sank to the bottom of his tea. “Ah, well I did warn you…”

“Missy!” The Doctor exclaimed. “Enough of this. This is your therapy session and I will not have you delaying it any further. Today we’re going to be discussing honesty. So, back to the issue at hand, I found your Tardis. The Tardis you said you’d lost in a devastating crash. The crash that you said made you homeless and led you into some of the worst situations you’d ever been in. You cried and I held you. What was that? Emotional manipulation for sympathy? Does that kind of thing get you off?” 

Missy rolled her eyes and took a bite out of her pink wafer. Chewing very slowly, her head swayed from one side to the other in careful consideration. Finally, she cleared her throat in preparation to talk. 

“When did you become qualified to run therapy sessions?” Missy asked nonchalantly. 

“The moment I realised I was stuck with you as a life long friend,” the Doctor replied instantly. 

“Well, that’s just rude—”

“No,” the Doctor spat. His patience was clearly at an end. “Rude is trying to kill every other friend your best friend has, it is trying to kill your only friend, it is getting yourself into ridiculous situations and expecting your friend to save you and it is rude not to accept the help and rehabilitation that your friend is offering you. I’m done Missy. If you don’t start taking this seriously, I’m leaving.” 

Missy blinked at the Doctor, taking a sip of her tea. 

“Well, that was quite something. You get me all hot under the collar when you get so worked up,” Missy teased. “But tell me, dear, have you quite finished?” 

The Doctor scowled. 

“Yes. I’ve finished, but you need to start telling me the truth. If you’re honest with me, we can work together.” 

“Hmm,” Missy hummed as she nodded. So, you found my Tardis?” 

“Yes, so the game is up, start talking.” 

“What year is it?” 

“1976. Its March.” 

“Huh,” Missy said. Her face was the epitome of a poker face. “Funny that, just as I suspected. That’s not my Tardis.” 

The Doctor’s face contorted into one of complete fury.

“Stop lying!” 

“I’m not!” Missy said. This time her patience was being tested. “Did you go inside?” 

The Doctor blinked, eyes widening as he realised he’d been caught out. 

“No. She wouldn’t let me in. You’d probably set up a maze of booby traps.”

“Wrong,” Missy said with a pop of her lips. “My Tardis is male and he’d always let you in, especially when I’ve been gone so long. We’re not the only two left these days…” 

The Doctor swallowed, face clouding over with something akin to regret. Maybe he had jumped the gun a bit. 

“Oh,” the Time Lord said. “So, you weren’t lying.”

“Nope,” Missy said. “Afraid all those terrible things did happen to me.” 

The Doctor coughed and muttered an apology. 

“If it isn’t yours, then whose is it?” 

“Well dear, though I hate to admit it, I’m not the first Time Lady with fabulous hair and razor sharp cheek bones to grace the dreary planet.”

“The Rani!” The Doctor exclaimed, standing up in a hurry. “Missy, I’ll be back later, if she’s around that can’t be good news.”

Running out of the Vault, the Doctor barely looked back as he ran off to deal with what he was convinced was a planet- threatening disaster. Once Missy was sure the Doctor wouldn’t be coming back, she pulled out a clean mug and poured a fresh tea. 

“He’s run off to save the monkeys,” Missy sang into the seemingly empty Vault. “You can come and enjoy your tea now.”

Out of the shadows, another Time Lady with fabulous hair and razor sharp cheek bones emerged. She smiled at Missy and sat down opposite her, accepting the tea with a grateful smile. 

“Honestly, he never changes,” the Rani scoffed. “You though, I much prefer you female.”

“I know, I know,” Missy nodded sagely. “He always thinks the world’s about to end. Thank you dear, I much prefer it too.”

The Rani laughed. “He’d find it impossible to believe that we’re just having a friendly catch up!” 

“Silly sausage he is,” Missy tutted. 

She took a sip of her tea and the pair fell into a thoughtful silence. Finally, Missy broke it. 

“But tell me, you have got a plan on the go, haven’t you?” 

“Of course!” The Rani replied. “I haven’t gone soft like you.”

“Thank Rasillon, I’ll have to live vicariously through you.” Missy said. “Tell me everything, no details spared.”


	4. Tequila?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor comes home from a long day to find Missy and Nardole completely sloshed. 
> 
> Thanks AceMcshane for the prompt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its late- hectic weekend and ill and MH taking a dive. There may however be 2 chapters this sunday!

It was the end of a long and dreary February day when the Doctor finally made it down to the Vault. The rain had begun at three am and still hadn’t stopped by the time the Doctor had finished marking his last essay at just after seven pm. Pulling down the hood of his raincoat, the Doctor scowled at the drips of rain that ran down the back of his neck. He hated winter. Right now, the only thing that he wanted was to join Missy in the Vault with the Mexican takeaway he had picked up on the (soggy) walk home. In fact, he was hopeful that Missy would be in a cuddly mood. After the day he had had, he was rather in the mood for some snuggling. A sudden spring entered the Doctor’s walk at the prospect of an evening spent snuggling with the only other Time Lord in exile. Just as he approached the Vault doors, he was taken aback by the noisy conversation that was going on…

…Was Missy talking to herself? The Doctor worried over that notion as he started to unlock the Vault doors. No, no there was definitely a second voice. A squeaky, high pitched male voice. That was Nardole! Had he been down there since taking breakfast that morning? That wouldn’t be a good thing. They must have been bickering again- or worse, maybe Nardole had found another one of Missy’s ‘projects’. Worse still, it would be the on of the projects that the Doctor had allowed. Just as the Doctor was about to open the doors, he heard words that sent a shiver down his spine and outshone the alternative scenarios by a country mile. 

“I won, Missy,” Nardole exclaimed excitedly. His words sounded slurred, not unlike how he had sounded when he’d staggered home from the Ball for Scoundrels and Wrongdoers last Christmas. He was either drunk, or his software needed an upgrade. Shaking his head, the Doctor’s gaze shot upwards when he heard the next words slide under the door. 

“Take off your bra.” 

Having heard enough, the Doctor rushed into the Vault. His eyebrows contorted in every direction as he tried to take in the scene before him. 

Missy was lounging across the chaise-lounge, wearing nothing but a pair of polka dot cotton knickers, one sock and a cocky grin. Except, it was less cocky than normal and more sloppy. Glancing around the room for an explanation, the Doctor took in the empty bottles and whiff of alcohol and ginger that hung in the air. Finally, his eyes fell on the cyborg who was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and braces while holding a deck of cards. The Vault currently looked less like a prison and more like a student house on a Sunday morning. Groaning, the Doctor ran a hand over his face. It would seem that the long and dreary day wasn’t quite over yet. 

“What in God’s name is going on here?” The Doctor asked, Glaswegian burr thickening by the second. 

Missy giggled in delight, attempting to sit up and nearly falling face first. The Doctor managed to catch her by the shoulders just in time to stop her splitting her lip on the coffee table. 

“Bloody hell, Missy,” the Doctor hissed, making sure the Time Lady was settled back down on the chaise-lounge before turning to glare at the Cyborg. Missy had already nearly passed out, so he’d have to deal with the slightly more sober of the two. “You! What were you thinking? You know that alcohol is a depressant and alters our sense of reality. Do you really think she is someone that needs either of those things?” 

Behind him, the Doctor heard a few clumsy footsteps and rustling of bags.

“She has a name,” Missy corrected, trying her best to look dignified in her knickers and undone bra. If anyone but Nardole had been with her all day, he would have been concerned. As it was, he was just trying to figure out a way to get his two ridiculous friends into bed with as little hassle as possible. 

“Missy, come and sit—”

“Oh look!” Missy exclaimed. “Mexican food. You know what goes with Mexican food? Tequila! We should have tequila!” 

Nardole perked up, nodding enthusiastically at the suggestion. 

“We should have tequila.”

“We’re not having tequila.”

The Doctor didn’t like being the voice of reason, the words didn’t taste right in his mouth. 

Missy and Nardole looked at him with matching expressions of disappointment. 

“Nardole—” The Doctor started, only to be broken off by Missy dashing past him to the bathroom. “Missy? Are you okay?”

“She’s going to chunder,” Nardole informed sounding annoyingly like one of the Doctor’s students. “It happened earlier, too. Don’t worry, she’ll be back for round three in a jiffy.”

“No she won’t,” the Doctor said firmly. “And neither will you. Go to bed, I will see you in my office first thing tomorrow morning. I might even enrol you on the safeguarding course for caring for vulnerable people.” 

“She’s a megalomaniacal Time Lady, not a vulnerable old biddy and you’re kidding yourself if you think any different.”

“Leave!” The Doctor ordered pointing at the Door.

He was set to head to the bathroom and give Missy the same telling off when he heard something that stopped him in his tracks. Missy whimpering and calling out for the Doctor. She never had known when enough was enough. In any sense. 

“Don’t hate me, Doctor,” Missy sniffled. “I don’t feel well.”

“I’m not surprised,” the Doctor sighed, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and draping over Missy. “You were very silly, Missy.” 

Missy coughed in reply and the Doctor took it as her agreeing. It was easier than an argument. 

“Would you like me to help you to bed?” The Doctor asked. Missy nodded and turned around, clinging to the Doctor’s legs like a limpet. 

“Okay, come on then,” the Doctor encouraged gently. At least he was guaranteed his snuggling time this evening.


	5. Understudy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt by Lady Ushas. 
> 
> Missy, your Michelle is showing.

“Ding Dong the witch is dead.”

 

“Very droll, Jasper, but seriously, what are we going to do? We can’t put on a production of the Wizard of Oz without a wicked witch.”

 

Thirty-three years the Doctor had worked at St. Luke’s University and for thirty-two of those years, he had avoided being roped into the annual staff review. Each summer, as the end of term drew nearer, the staff of various faculties would come together to put on a play for the students. The money raised from tickets would go to charity and a good time was had by all. Participating in something so farcical wasn’t really the Doctor’s kind of thing- certainly not in this body, at least, but he did enjoy the final production. He had often toyed with the idea of bringing Missy to one of the shows- she had been more settled over the last decade and he had rewarded her as such with regular trips outside. For last years production of the Sound of Music, he had finally caved and taken Missy to a matinee performance. She had loved every minute- singing along and treasuring the 50p programme that the Doctor had brought her. It was still in her souvenir box under her bed along with the ticket stub and the sneaky selfie she had taken with the yet to be created technology when none of the humans were looking. If she’d had it her way, Missy would have kept everything from that day including the empty ice cream carton and tissue she’d used during the interval. Yes, that had been a marvellous day. Unfortunately, it had led to the Doctor no longer being allowed to worm his way out of being involved in the annual review. Missy’s obvious (and over the top) enjoyment of the staff review had put the Doctor in the spotlight. “Doctor! You’ve been here as long as the walls and you haven’t been a part of the staff review? That simply won’t do…” Eventually, the Doctor had managed to talk his colleagues out of giving him a staring role on the stage by (reluctantly) agreeing to direct the play. As he sat listening to the latest off stage drama, he wished he’d just agreed to play Dorothy.

 

“She’s only broken her ankle,” the Doctor found himself reasoning. “I’m sure Barbara will be back in plenty of time to play the Wicked Witch! Please, can’t we leave the drama on stage?”

 

“Her ankle will take at least six weeks to heal and the opening night is in two days!” The colleague knew in his head as _panicked blonde_ exclaimed.

 

The Doctor sighed, humans and their ridiculous fragility.

 

“We might have to cancel the show,” the man panicked blonde had earlier called Jasper said. “Unless…Doctor, that fabulous friend of yours that you brought to last year’s show, I don’t suppose she happens to be down this way?”

 

“Missy?” The Doctor began warily but was cut off by _panicked blonde._

“Oh she’d be perfect! If anyone has a face to play witches and bitches, it’s her.”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

The Doctor couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he was. Sat in the Vault, he looked across at Missy and waited for her response.

 

“You want me to play the starring role in your little play?” Missy asked, eyebrow raised.

 

“Well, its less starring role and more starring villain,” the Doctor explained.

 

“Even better,” Missy trilled, standing up with an excited flourish. “How much do I get paid?”

 

“It’s for charity, you don’t get paid.”

 

“Would I get my own dressing room?”

 

“Missy,” the Doctor explained tiredly. “This is a university charity performance not a stretch on the West End.”

 

“Shame. Would everyone bring me lots of flowers and I’d have to bow and fake cry, like this?”

 

Missy asked as she bowed and made a show of wiping away a non-existent tear.

 

“I’d bring you flowers, Missy,” the Doctor negotiated.

 

Missy gasped in delight. “Oh Doctor, I didn’t know you cared!”

 

“Are you accepting the role- yes or no?”

 

“When have I ever turned down the opportunity to take centre stage. I just have one very important final question.”

 

“What is it Missy?” The Doctor sighed.

 

“Will I get to fly a broomstick?”

 

XXXXXXXX

 

It was opening night and Missy had just walked out on stage. Under the strong lighting, the Doctor wondered if he had made a mistake. Missy looked suddenly very small and afraid- maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But then- with the flash of pyrotechnics, Missy came to life. She cackled, taunted and flew around the stage like she was made to play the part. The Doctor couldn’t help but swell with pride as he watched her in her element. He wished she’d found acting as an outlet to some of her more undesirable traits years ago. As the curtain came down, the Doctor rose and gave the cast- but mainly Missy- a standing ovation.

 

Later, as the amateur cast are mingling over cocktails and sausages, the Doctor pulls Missy to one side.

 

“You were amazing,” he congratulates.

 

Missy smiles and nods in agreement.

 

“I do have a face to play witches and bitches,” Missy reasons.

 

The Doctor laughs and then stills. A thought flashes across his mind…No, Missy wouldn’t possibly consider injuring someone to get into a play. On second thoughts….

 

“Doctor, I’m tired now. I wish to retire to my living quarters.”

 

“If you mean your Vault, then I think that is a very good idea.”

 

Leading the way back down the stairs to the Vault, the Doctor lets Missy enter ahead of him.

 

“I’m heading straight to bed, there’s no need for you to hang around,” Missy informed. The Doctor nodded and went to leave. “Oh and Doctor, do send my regards to Barbara. I hope her ankle heals right up.”


	6. Cold comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy has a cold and needs the Doctor's comfort. 
> 
> Based on a prompt by happyeverafter72

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back!

As the doors to the Vault opened, Missy could barely lift her head from the pillow. It felt heavy and every time she tried to breathe through her nose, her sinuses felt like they were being attacked by a tiny army of Sontarians. Kicking her legs in frustration, Missy turned over to face the doors and watch the Doctor enter with a fresh bag of shopping. The Time Lady gave up on any attempt to lift her head or breathe through her nose. Instead, she pulled Yana in close and took a few several ragged breaths. The Doctor looked over at her, smiling kindly as he placed two bags for life on the kitchen floor and shrugged his jacket off. 

“I though you were going to try to sleep while I was gone?” 

The Doctor’s voice was quiet and laced with concern, but still proved too loud for Missy who found herself wincing at the sudden intrusion of noise. It was a sensory overload, the Doctor’s voice too much for her already thumping head. Pulling the duvet over her head, Missy made a noise of distress and wished the earth would open and swallow her whole. Outside her tiny nest, she heard the Doctor’s muffled footsteps making their way towards her. They came to a stop and the bed dipped as the other Time Lord sat down on the end of the bed. His knees clicked in the way they tended to in his current body, but he bit back the urge to groan- knowing that any sudden noise was liable to hurt Missy in her fragile state. Dutifully, he rolled back the duvet and ignored the stale stench of body odour that came away with it. This was day three of Missy’s flu and so far, this was the most coherent she’d been. Missy let out a pitiful whine and squinted up at him, a sleek sheet of sweat lining her grey features. It was dark in the Vault, but the Doctor knew better than to try and turn the light on. Soft words and dimmed lighting were what Missy needed now. Letting her head roll to one side, Missy let out another ragged breath that descended into a cacophony of coughing. The Doctor worried at the difficulty she was still having in breathing and carefully- despite her protests- helped her up into a seated position, rubbing gentle circles in her back. Her back was hot to touch- sweat dripping through her cotton night shirt. After a few heaving gulps, Missy’s coughing subsided and her shallow, laboured breathing returned to something normal. 

The Vault was silent for several minutes. Missy closed her eyes, willing the room to stop spinning again while the Doctor retrieved a wash bag filled with medical supplies. Missy peered her eyes open at the rustling noise, shooting the small white bag that was adorned with tiny sausage dogs a killer glare. Once upon a time, the cute bag had been a favourite of Missy’s but now all it stirred was a feeling of dread- nothing good had come out of that bag over the past few days. Instead, it had proved to be a Tardis of needles, rehydration sachets and horrible syrups. 

“No,” Missy started to protest weakly as she saw the Doctor start to pull out a syringe. “No more please.” 

The Doctor looked up apologetically, he placed the medical supplies away on the bedside table and turned his full attention to Missy. Along with the physical symptoms of the flu she had caught, Missy’s mental health took a dive every time she became ill. Early on during this bout of illness, Missy’s lethargy had given way to a heavy depression. The Doctor had spent a whole night consoling her over the fact that she hadn’t been able to complete her weekly chores because of the illness. In her fever, she had convinced herself that this was a set back and she was never going to become good. The Doctor had tried to remind her that not doing the dishes or watering the plants for one week was not the same as killing an entire population. She wasn’t becoming bad again- she had the flu. Now, the depression had given way to a relentless anxiety about everything. 

“Why don’t you try and have a sip of water, Missy?” The Doctor suggested, keeping the medical supplies out of sight. “If you have some water, I won’t have to re-attach a drip.”

“I’ll be sick,” Missy replied. “I don’t want to be sick again.”

She was probably right, but the level she was worried about it wasn’t normal. 

“You don’t have to worry about being sick,” the Doctor reassured calmly. “Why don’t you just try for me?”

“No,” Missy persisted. “You were gone so long.”

“I was gone for ten minutes, sweetheart,” the Doctor sighed. “Would you like a hug?”

Missy nodded, instantly resting her head against the Doctor’s chest and listening to his heartbeats to calm her nerves. The Doctor started to run a hand through her knotted hair, humming an old Gallifreyan folksong. He could already feel her growing heavy in his arms and approaching a fresh slumber. It was probably best for her and he would be able to do the majority of medical checks while she was asleep. 

“I love you, Doctor,” Missy said sleepily. “And I love it when you take care of me.”

“I love you too, Missy,” the Doctor replied. “And I love taking care of you.”


	7. A game of Chess gone awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy's distracted during their game of chess, the Doctor wants to know why. 
> 
> Based on a prompt by AceMcShane

“Check mate…”  
The Doctor declared his victory over Missy uncertainly, casting a wary glance over the Time Lady. There had only ever been two occasions that he had beaten his oldest friend at chess. The first time had been back home on Gallifrey at the quiet village hospital where Missy had been recovering from her first breakdown. The Time Lady had barely known her name, but she’d still given the Doctor a run for his money during the match. The second time had been on Earth several centuries later, the Doctor had been mourning the loss of another human friend and Missy had returned (seemingly from the dead) to cheer him up. In a show of rare empathy, the Time Lady had let him win to boost his spirits. It was strange, therefore, that only half an hour into their first Sunday morning match, the Doctor had won. Stanger still, Missy still didn’t seem to have noticed she had lost. The Doctor watched as Missy’s trembling hand reached for a piece and she blindly placed it down on the board. The Time Lord couldn’t decide whether she was ignoring her defeat or really hadn’t realised. 

“Nice try, Missy,” the Doctor laughed. It was a forced laugh that boomed around the Vault and hid the nervousness the Doctor was feeling. “You lost, it’ll be you doing the washing up.” 

Missy flinched nervously at the Doctor’s laugh and dropped her piece on the floor. Her eyes that had glazed over just a second before, were now bright with tears. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gulping but she failed to make any sound. Squeezing her eyes shut, Missy cradled her head in her hands and shook her head. The Doctor’s brow furrowed, and he wondered if she was hearing something that he couldn’t. Standing up, he pulled his chair around the table so that he was positioned next to Missy. He watched with concern etched on his features as Missy dug her nails into the side of her head, leaving painful- looking half-moon imprints on her skin. Reaching out, he gently placed his hands around her wrists and moved them into his lap. Once she was unable to cause herself any more harm, the Doctor slipped his hands away from her wrists- it was a position that reminded him far too much of the times that he had had to restrain her- and instead he held her hands, gently rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said calmly as he took in her dishevelled appearance. For the first time that morning, he noticed how tired she looked- dark circled lined her eyes and her hair was knotty in its low-hanging pony tail. “I never want to see you hurt. Tell me honestly, are you hearing noises again?” 

Missy shook her head and the Doctor noted that despite her tiredness, she didn’t look psychotic. 

“Where have you been?” 

The Time Lady asked very quietly, her eyes nervously shifted around the room and she never quite managed to remain focused on the Doctor. If she had, he would have been able to see the vulnerability in them and behind the question.   
“I’ve been here,” the Doctor replied. “At the university, teaching and marking and annoying Nardole.” 

“But I missed you,” Missy replied. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, but she made no effort to move away from the physical contact with the Doctor. “I saw you three days ago and then today. I missed you.” 

The Doctor sighed- he’d hoped this clingy phase had been dealt with years ago. In a way it was better- the early years had seen Missy cry every time the Doctor went to leave the Vault at all. Regretfully, the Doctor realised his friend wasn’t the one he’d grown up with. She wasn’t the clever, funny little boy that had run through the fields with him, but she also wasn’t the maniacal megalomaniac that had destroyed half of the Universe’s civilisations. Instead, she was his friend putting herself on the line and trying to change. Trying to change for him. 

“I miss you every second I’m not with you,” the Doctor said in soft Gallifreyan. Yes, he was indulging the Time Lady, but it was true. Anyway, it was worth it to see the way her lips twitched into a smile and the worry left her eyes for a second. “Did something bring this on Missy? You’re usually quite good at amusing yourself…” 

“I had a dream,” Missy said slowly, clearly struggling with the words. “A few nights ago. I dreamt you left me. You got bored and I wasn’t getting good enough fast enough and you found a new pet and you left…”

The Doctor sighed, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of her anxieties. He was never going to leave her, he never could.

“Never,” the Doctor promised firmly. “That’s never going to happen.” 

“But I dreamt it and then I didn’t see you for so long…”

“It’s never going to happen, Missy.”

Lifting her hand up to his lips, the Doctor placed a firm kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Now, do you fancy a rematch?”


End file.
